THE CURSE OF MINERVA
March 17, 1811.
Slow sinks,
more lovely ere his race be run,
Along Morea's hills the setting sun;
Not, as in
northern climes, obscurely bright,
But one
unclouded blaze of living light;
O'er the hush'd deep the yellow beam he throws,
Gilds the green
wave that trembles as it glows;
On old
The god of
gladness shed his parting smile'
O'er his own regions lingering loves to shine,
Though
there his altars are no more divine.
Descending
fast, the mountain-shadows kiss
Thy glorious gulf, unconquer'd
Their azure
arches through the long expanse
More deeply
purpled, meet his mellowing glance,
And tenderest tints, along their summits driven,
Mark his gay
course, and own the hues of heaven;
Till darkly
shaded from the land and deep,
Behind his Delphian rock he sinks to sleep.
On such an eve
his palest beam he cast
When,
How watch'd thy better sons his farewell ray,
That closed
their murder'd sage's latest day!
Not yet--not
yet--Sol pauses on the hill.
The precious
hour of parting lingers still;
But sad his
light to agonising eyes,
And dark the
mountain's once delightful dyes;
Gloom o'er the
lovely land he seem'd to pour,
The land where
Phoebus never frown'd
before;
But ere he sunk
below Citheron's head,
The cup of woe
was quaff'd--the spirit fled;
The soul of him
that scorn'd to fear or fly,
Who lived and
died as none can live or die.
But, lo! from high
The queen of
night asserts her silent reign;
No murky
vapour, herald of the storm,
Hides her fair
face, or girds her glowing form,
With cornice
glimmering as the moonbeams play,
There the white
column greets her grateful ray,
And bright
around, with quivering beams beset,
her
emblem sparkles o'er the minaret:
The groves of
olive scatter'd dark and wide,
Where meek Cephisus sheds his scanty tide,
the
cypress saddening by the sacred mosque,
The gleaming
turret of the gay kiosk,
And sad and
sombre 'mid the holy calm,
Near Theseus' fane, yon solitary palm;
All, tinged
with varied hues, arrest the eye;
and
dull were his that pass'd them heedless by.
Again the
Lulls his
chafed breast from elemental war;
Again his waves
in milder tints unfold
Their long
expanse of sapphire and of gold,
Mix'd
with the shades of many a distant isle
That
frown, where gentler oceans deigns to smile.
As thus, within
the walls of Pallas' fane,
I mark'd the beauties of the land and main,
alone,
and friendless, on the magic shore,
Whose arts
revive, whose arms avenge no more;
Oft as the
matchless dome I turn'd to scan,
Sacred to gods,
but not secure from man,
The past return'd, the present seem'd to
cease,
And Glory knew
no clime beyond her
Hours roll'd along, and Dian's orb on high
Had gain'd the centre of her softest sky;
and yet
unwearied still my footsteps trod
O'er the vain
shrine of many a vanish'd god:
But chiefly,
Pallas! thine, when Hecate's glare,
Check'd by
thy columns, fell more sadly fair
O'er the chill
marble, where the starling tread
Thrills
the lone heart like echoes from the dead.
Long had I
mused, and treasured every trace
The wreck of
When, lo! A
giant form before me strode,
And Pallas
hailed me in her own abode!
Yes, 'twas
Minerva's self; but ah! how changed,
Since o'er the Darman field in arms she ranged!
Not such as erst, by her divine command,
Her form
appeared from Phidias' plastic hand:
Gone were the
terrors of her awful brow,
Her idle aegis
bore no Gorgon now;
Her helm was
dinted, and the broken lance
Seem'd
weak and shaftless e'en to
mortal glance;
The olive
branch, which still she deign'd to clasp,
Shrunk from her
touch, and wither'd in her grasp;
And, ah! though still the brightest of the sky,
Celestial tears
bedimm'd her large blue eye:
Round the rent casque her owlet circled slow,
And mourn'd his mistress with a shriek of woe!
"Mortal!"
-- 'twas thus she spake -- "that blush of shame
Proclaims thee
Briton, once a noble name;
First of the
mighty, foremost of the free,
Now honour'd less by all, and least by me;
Chief of thy
foes shall Pallas still be found.
Seek'st thou the cause
of loathing? --look around.
Lo! here, despite of war and wasting fire,
I saw successive
tyrannies expire.
'Scaped from the ravage of the Turk and Goth,
Thy country
sends a spoiler worse than both.
Survey this
vacant, violated fane;
Recount the
relics torn that yet remain:
These Cecrops placed, this Pericles
adorn'd,
That
What more I owe
let gratitude attest--
Know, Alaric
and
That all may
learn from whence the plunderer came,
The insulted
wall sustains his hated name:
For
Below, his
name--above, behold his deeds!
Be ever hailed
with equal honour here
The Gothic
monarch and the Pictish peer:
arms
gave the first his right, the last had none,
But basely
stole what less barbarians won.
So when the
lion quits his fell repast,
Next prowls the
wolf, the filthy jackal last;
Flesh, limbs,
and blood the former make their own,
The last poor
brute securely gnaws the bone.
Yet still the
gods are just, and crimes are cross'd:
See here what
Another name
with his pollutes my shrine:
Behold where
Dian's beams disdain to shine!
Some
retribution still might Pallas claim,
When
Venus half avenged Minerva's shame."
She ceased
awhile, and thus I dared reply,
To soothe the
vengeance kindling in her eye:
"Daughter
of Jove! in
A true-born
Briton may the deed disclaim.
Frown not on
Athena, no! thy plunderer was a Scot.
Ask'st thou the
difference? From fair Phyles'
towers
Survey
Bœotia;--
And well I know
within that bastard land
Hath Wisdom's
goddess never held command;
A barren soil,
where Nature's germs, confined
To stern
sterility, can stint the mind;
Whose thistle
well betrays the niggard earth,
Emblem of all
to whom the land gives birth;
Each genial influence
nurtured to resist;
A
land of meanness, sophistry, and mist.
Each breeze
from foggy mount and marshy plain
Dilutes with
drivel every drizzly brain,
Till, burst at
length, each wat'ry head o'er-flows,
Foul
as their soil, and frigid as their snows.
Then thousand
schemes of petulance and pride
Despatch her
scheming children far and wide:
Some east, some
west, some everywhere but north,
In quest of
lawless gain, they issue forth.
And
thus--accursed be the day and year!
Yet
As dull Bœotia gave a Pindar birth;
So may her few,
the letter'd and the brave,
Bound to no
clime, and victors of the grave,
Shake off the
sordid dust of such a land,
And shine like
children of a happier strand;
As once, of
yore, in some obnoxious place,
Ten names (if
found) had saved a wretched race."
"Mortal!"
the blue-eyed maid resumed, "once more
Bear back my
mandate to thy native shore.
Though fallen,
alas! this vengeance yet is mine,
to
turn my counsels far from lands like thine.
Hear then in
silence Pallas' stern behest;
Hear and
believe, for time will tell the rest.
"First on
the head of him who did this deed
My curse shall
light, --on him and all his seed:
Without one
spark of intellectual fire,
Be all the sons
as senseless as the sire:
If one with wit
the parent brood disgrace,
Believe him
bastard of a brighter race;
Still with his
hireling artists let him prate,
and
Folly's praise repay for Wisdom's hate;
Long of their
patron's gusto let them tell,
Whose noblest, native
gusto is--to sell;
To sell and
make--may shame record the day!---
The state
receiver of his pilfer'd prey.
Meantime, the
flattering, feeble dotard, West,
Europe's worst
dauber, and poor
With palsied
hand shall turn each model o'er
And own himself
an infant of fourscore.
Be all the
bruisers cull'd from all St. Giles',
That art and
nature may compare their styles;
While brawny
brutes in stupid wonder stare,
And marvel at
his lordship's stone shop there.
Round the throng'd gate shall sauntering coxcombs creep,
To lounge and
lucubrate, to prate and peep;
While many a
languid maid, with longing sigh,
On giant
statues casts the curious eye;
The room with
transient glance appears to skim
Yet marks the
mighty back and length of limb;
Mourns o'er the
difference of now and then;
Exclaims
'These Greeks indeed were proper men!'
Draws slight
comparisons of these with those,
And
envies Laïs all her Attic beaux.
When shall a
modern maid have swains like these!
Alas! Sir Harry
is no Hercules!
And last of
all, amidst the gaping crew,
Some calm
spectator, as he takes his view,
In silent
indignation mix'd with grief,
Admires the
plunder, but abhors the thief.
Oh, loath'd in life, nor pardon'd in the dust,
May hate pursue
his sacrilegious lust!
Link'd
with the fool that fired the Ephesian dome,
Shall vengeance
follow far beyond the tomb,
And Eratostratus and
In many a
branding page and burning line;
Alike reserved
for aye to stand accursed,
Perchance
the second blacker than the first.
"So let him
stand, through, ages yet unborn,
Fix'd
statue on the pedestal of Scorn'
Though not for
him alone revenge shall wait,
But
fits thy country for her coming fate:
Hers were the
deeds that taught her lawless son
To do what oft
Britannia's self had done.
Look to the
Baltic--blazing from afar,
Your old ally
yet mourns perfidious war.
Not to such
deed did Pallas lend her aid,
Or break the
compact which herself had made;
Far from such
councils, from the faithless field
She fled-but
left behind her Gorgon shield;
A fatal gift
that turn'd your friends to stone,
And
left lost
"Look to
the East, where
Shall shake
your tyrant empire to its base;
Lo! There
Rebellion rears her ghastly head
And glares the
Nemesis of native dead;
Till
And
claims his long arrear of northern blood.
So may ye
perish! Pallas, when she gave
Your free-born rights, forbade ye to enslave.
"Look on
your
But boldly
clasps, and thrusts you from her gates.
But
Can spare a few
to fight, and sometimes fly,
Oh glorious
field! by Famine fiercely won,
The
But when did
Pallas teach, that one retreat
Retrieved three
long olympiads of defeat?
"Look last
at home--ye love not to look there;
On the grim
smile of comfortless despair:
Your city
saddens: loud though Revel howls,
Here Famine
faints, and yonder Rapine prowls.
See all alike
of more or less bereft;
No misers
tremble when there's nothing left.
'Blest paper
credit;' who shall dare to sing?
It clogs like
lead Corruption's weary wing.
Yet Pallas pluck'd each premier by the ear,
Who gods and
men alike disdain'd to hear;
But one,
repentant o'er a bankrupt state,
On Pallas
calls,--but calls, alas! Too late:
Then raves for
. . .; to that
Though he and
Pallas never yet were friends.
Him senates
hear, whom never yet they heard,
Contemptuous once, and now no less absurd.
So, once of
yore, each reasonable frog
Swore
faith and fealty to his sovereign 'log.'
Thus hailed
your rulers their patrician clod,
As
"Now fare
ye well! enjoy your little hour;
Go, grasp the
shadow of your vanish'd power;
Gloss o'er the
failure of each fondest scheme;
Your
strength a name, your bloated wealth a cream.
Gone is that
gold, the marvel of mankind,
And pirates
barter all that's left behind.
No more the
hirelings, purchased near and far,
Crowd
to the ranks of mercenary war.
The idle
merchant on the useless quay
Droops o'er the
bales no bark may bear away;
Or back
returning, sees rejected stores
Rot piecemeal on his own encumber'd shores:
The starved
mechanic breaks his rusting loom,
And desperate
mans him 'gainst the coming doom.
Then in the
senate of your sinking state
Show me the man
whose counsels may have weight.
Vain is each
voice where tones could once command;
E'en
factions cease to charm a factious land:
Yet jarring
sects convulse a sister isle,
And light with
maddening hands the mutual pile.
"
'Tis done,, 't is past, since Pallas
warns in vain;
The Furies
seize her abdicated reign:
Wide o'er the
ream they wave their kindling brands,
And wring her
vitals with their fiery hands.
But one
convulsive struggle still remains,
And Gaul shall
weep ere
The banner'd pomp of war, the glittering files,
O'er whose gay
trappings stern Bellona smiles;
The brazen
trump, the spirit-stirring drum,
That bid the
foe defiance ere they come;
The hero bounding
at his country's call,
The glorious
death that consecrates his fall,
Swell the young
heart with visionary charms,
And bid it
antedate the joys of arms.
But know, a
lesson you may yet be taught,
With death
alone are laurels cheaply bought:
Not in the
conflict Havoc seeks delight,
His day of
mercy is the day of fight.
But when the
field is fought, the battle won,
Though drench'd with gore, his woes are but begun:
His deeper
deeds as yet ye know by name;
The slaughter'd peasant and the ravish'd
dame,
The rifled
mansion and the foe-reap'd field,
Ill suit with
souls at home, untaught to yield.
Say with what
eye along the distant down
Would flying
burghers mark the blazing town?
How view the
column of ascending flames
Shake his red
shadow o'er the startled
Nay, frown not,
That lit such
pyres from Tagus to the
Now should they
burst on thy devoted coast,
Go, ask they
bosom who deserves them most.
The law of
heaven and earth is life for life,
And she who raised, in vain regrets, the strife."
Analysis
The poem has masculine rhyme and shows the
AA-BB-CC-DD (and so on) form of rhyme.
It is a Satire about Lord Elgin and the famous
Elgin Marbles. The marbles are an assortment of Greek Antiquities
that were taken from the Acropolis in
In the poem Byron usually use irony to explain what it want to say, and
he’s criticizing Lord Elgin because
he doesn’t want that they take the
marbles to
He uses irony like in:
Though there his altars are no more
divine.
Descending fast, the mountain-shadows kiss
Thy glorious gulf, unconquer'd
With this,he’s saying
that when the marbles gone out of the Acropolis,there
won’t be divine for any time ,and doing a word-games between the gulf and the
salamis.
Contextualization & relation of the poem
with poet’s poetic works.
Byron wrote prolifically. In 1833 his publisher, John Murray, released the complete works in 17
duodecimo volumes, including a biography by Thomas Moore.
His magnum opus,
Don Juan, a poem spanning 17 cantos, ranks
as one of the most important long poems published in
His attitude towards writing poetry is summed up well in a letter to Thomas
Moore on July 5th 1821:
I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of
excited passion, and that there is no such thing as a life of passion any more
than a continuous earthquake, or an eternal fever. Besides, who would ever
shave themselves in such a state? (Based on wikipedia notes of Lord Byron)
Byron was a bitter opponent of Lord Elgin's
removal of the Parthenon marbles from
Byron lived in
Mavrokordatos and Byron planned to attack the
Turkish-held fortress of Lepanto, at the mouth of the Gulf of Corinth.
Byron wrote this poem during his stay in Capuchin Convent in
Byron eventually took his seat in the House of Lords
in 1811, shortly after his return from the
Professional Web Site http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Gordon_Byron%2C_6th_Baron_Byron
In 1811 Byron also was beginning his political career
too, and this is the place the poem occupy in his
life. A strong advocate of social reform, he received particular praise as one
of the few Parliamentary defenders of the Luddites.
He also spoke in defense of the rights of Roman Catholics.
These experiences inspired Byron to write political poems such as "Song
for the Luddites" (1816) and "The
Landlords' Interest" (1823). Examples of poems where he attacked his
political opponents include "Wellington: The Best of
the Cut-Throats" (1819) and "The Intellectual Eunuch Castlereagh"
(1818). Note: "The Landlords' Interest" will not be found in any
Byron anthology; it is Canto XIV of "The Age Of
Bronze" (1823). (Notes taken from wikipedia web site)
In the period of time Byron wrote this poem there are so many important
facts in the world (related with English chronology) that have to be mentioned.
The Portuguese agree, under British pressure, to abolish the slave trade
gradually. The revolutionary government of
In 1809 Joseph Bonaparte was coronated in
Notes taken from:
Professional Web Site
http://english.ucsb.edu:591/rchrono/
Bibliography
Wikipedia: The free online encyclopaedia
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/George_Gordon_Byron%2C_6th_Baron_Byron
Professional
Web Site
http://www.sparknotes.com/biography/stowe/terms/char_6.html
Romantic chronology
http://english.ucsb.edu:591/rchrono/